


Letter Z: Zombies

by authorangelita (angel)



Series: Fic Alphabet Challenge: Teen Wolf [29]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/pseuds/authorangelita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have a run-in with a zombie that leaves Stiles with some scratches and a fear that he won't make it out of this one alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter Z: Zombies

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Fic Alphabet Challenge at [my Tumblr](http://authorangelita.tumblr.com/)
> 
> We've come to the end of the ~~road~~ alphabet. This is the last story, and as such, it gets a little (oddly) mushy there at the end. Sorry about that! The muse insisted.

Stiles' eyes snapped open at the first creak of the floorboard downstairs. Silently, he rolled to his feet, grabbed his shotgun and peeked around the edge of the doorframe. It was almost too dark to see, but he kept his eyes trained on the top of the steps. This type of situation was the only time that he wished he had werewolf senses. It would make his survival so much easier. And less reliant on luck or his ability to use a firearm.

He held his breath as he heard the crack on the broken first stair as someone stepped on it. He had an exit in place, but he really didn't want to have to jump out the the second floor window if he didn't have to. 

Then, he heard it; the howl that signaled that it was Derek creeping around the remnants of the old Hale house. Stiles returned the call with a sharp whistle and jogged to the top of the stairs. "Hey! I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Get your things. It's time to leave." Derek took the stairs two at a time and brushed past Stiles to enter the bedroom where Stiles had been dozing on a threadbare mattress in the corner. He grabbed his own duffle and made sure it was packed with all his necessities.

Stiles followed him and started stuffing whatever he'd spread out around the room – clothes, a book, a bat, extra ammo – into his duffle. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Zombies heading our way. Scott said they were coming from the north, a lot of them. He was out on patrol earlier." Derek moved out into the hallway and waited on Stiles, who did a final sweep of the room.

"Shit," he cursed at the news. They'd been able to stay in Beacon Hills for a long time. It had been months, maybe more than a year, since the world went to crap, and zombies – honest to god zombies – started killing and turning anyone and everyone that crossed their path. It was brutal, and Stiles certainly didn't want to become zombie chow. 

He'd come close a few of times, but Derek or Scott or his dad had been there to save him. Once, he'd beaten two of them off by himself with nothing more than his favorite bat and a wickedly sharp hunting knife Allison had given him after the survivors of Beacon Hills had reclaimed their territory by fighting back all of the zombies that had invaded it. 

The Sheriff was their de facto leader, and Chris Argent was his second-in-command. Melissa and a couple of doctors oversaw the few medics they had. Allison, Scott, Lydia, Derek, and Stiles took part in patrols, raids, and supply missions whenever they were needed. Some days they were given R&R, which is when Stiles and Derek usually headed out to the old Hale house. Most of the survivors in Beacon Hills still gave it a wide berth, and it looked so dilapidated that wandering zombies barely gave it a second glance. 

Derek kept a steady, brisk pace on their way back to headquarters, which was the Sheriff's station. Stiles could usually only keep up with the werewolf for so long, and when he started to feel winded, he reached out to grab Derek's hand and tug him into a more sedate walk. 

They were back within the town limits when a group of zombies appeared from an alleyway that they were passing back. One of them reached out out of the dark and grabbed Stiles, jerking him away from Derek and off his feet so that he landed hard against the wall of a building. His head bounced off the brick, and he groaned as his vision exploded into sparks and then swam sickeningly. 

"Stiles!" Derek's claws were out, and he was slashing at everything that moved. "Talk to me, Stiles!"

"Here! I'm here!" Stiles' head was spinning, and he wasn't able to make it to his feet. He crab-walked backwards, trying to get away from the fight, but he was too disoriented to realize that he was moving further into the alleyway instead of back toward the street.

One rotting, slimy hand took hold of his neck while another grabbed the open side of his flannel shirt. Stiles yelped at the sensation and flailed out, hoping to knock them away. He smacked one in the face hard enough to dislodge the hand around his neck, but the other held on tight. He groped for the knife strapped to his ankle, but just as his fingers brushed the cold steel, the zombie shifted its grip and its nails broke through both the cotton of his t-shirt and the skin underneath. 

Stiles gasped as the nails scratched bloody lines into his chest. He was frozen for a moment, shocked by the turn of events. Then, just as the zombie's teeth were gnashing close to his neck, the zombie was knocked away, and Derek's hands were pulling Stiles to his feet.

"Are you okay? Stiles? Can you move? Stiles?" 

Derek was tugging him out into the street as he asked his questions, but Stiles was still in a state of shock. He stumbled over his feet and nearly went face first onto the pavement, but Derek hefted him into his arms and started running. 

They were several blocks away when Derek stopped and ducked into one of their safe houses – strategic points along commonly used routes that held hidden stores of medical supplies and ammunition. Derek sat Stiles against the wall in a fortified windowless room, locked the door, and then dug out the medical supplies and the lantern that were also at every safe house. 

"Stiles? Say something."

Stiles rolled his head in Derek's direction, squinted against the light of the lantern, and rasped, "Something."

Derek paused in his rummaging through the supply bag to huff a relieved breath and smile cautiously at him. "Jokes are a good sign. Can you tell me what hurts?"

Stiles reached up with a trembling hand to gesture around his head and his chest. "Zombie got me." His voice shook almost as bad as his hand as he started to peel his bloody shirt away from the wounds. "I don't know how bad."

"Hey, hey, just breathe. Try to relax for a minute." Derek moved to his side and laid out a kit – scissors, bandages, saline, antiseptic.

Derek's hands, Stiles noticed, were steady as he cut away Stiles' shirt and exposed the three long, sluggishly bleeding scratches that went from his sternum halfway around his side to taper off above his ribs. Damn, the zombie had meant business. 

"This is going to hurt. Take a deep breath." Derek wasn't one to mince words or lie. The cold saline washed away the blood and caused pain to flare bright and agonizing for a long moment. 

Stiles whined, gasping as his breathing sped up and a panic attack started to build. He was almost lost to it when Derek leaned closer and kissed him, pressing hard against his lips for a moment.

"You've been talking to Lyds," Stiles said, breathless.

"She's a wise woman," Derek replied. He leaned back and gently patted Stiles' chest dry. "These don't look deep. I don't even think they need stitches. I'm going put some antiseptic on them for now, and then we'll let Melissa take a look later."

Stiles' brain was having a hard time catching up to Derek's words. He thought for sure he was going to be a goner, that the zombie had ripped his skin open deep enough to cause the virus to seriously infect him. But Derek's voice was even, and he was making eye contact with Stiles. One of Derek's tells, on the rare occasion that he lied, was that he couldn't look you in the eye. 

"What?" Stiles needed to hear it spoken more clearly.

"You're going to be okay. They're not deep enough."

"Oh, thank god." He reached out and tugged Derek closer for another kiss. "Thank you."

Derek smiled against his lips and held him for a moment. "Don't scare me like that again."

"Didn't mean to, I swear."

"I know. Just don't let go next time."

Stiles nodded and leaned against Derek's chest until he stopped shaking and his nerves were back under control. He watched as Derek finished bandaging him up and then put the supplies and lantern back where he'd found them. 

"Come on," Derek said, slowly pulling Stiles to his feet. "You need rest in a real bed."

"Sounds nice. Will you stay with me?"

"If your dad doesn't need help rounding up everyone and getting them moving. Zombies this close to downtown is bad news."

Stiles put his arm around Derek's shoulders and let the older man take some of his weight. "Love you, Der. Thanks for not letting me be zombie chow."

"Never, Stiles. Love you too."

~End

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing and exploring these characters. I definitely have plans for more in the Sam Hale 'verse, and I have a few other ideas for longer stories. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos through this crazy alphabet journey!!


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